


Polly-Amorous!

by Coffin Liqueur (HP_Lovecats)



Category: Monster Prom (Visual Novel)
Genre: And Also a Tsundere But This is Old News, Consensual Kink, Damien's Shapeshifting Junk, Doggy Style, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, F/M, Friends With Benefits, Humor, Liam is a Total Sub, Multi, Multi-shipping, Neck Kissing, One Shot Collection, Riding, Semi-Public Sex, Sex, Sexual Experimentation, Shipping, Smut, Tongue-in-cheek, Undead Boning Problems, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-31
Updated: 2019-07-23
Packaged: 2020-04-05 17:06:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19044703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HP_Lovecats/pseuds/Coffin%20Liqueur
Summary: A series of shipping and/or smut oneshots and vignettes starring Polly and each of the rest of the Spooky High gang.Next up: Polly/Liam. Gettin' someone who likes playing it cool to roll over for you is easy when you've got a way of seeing through their act.





	1. Polly/Damien: Big Number Three

**Author's Note:**

> It has been way too long since I've last found an excuse to write smut. You know what's always a good inspiration/prompt off of which to scrape the rust off of your wheels? Puns.
> 
> Especially puns involving Polly Geist.
> 
> I love Polly Geist.

"Ooh, okay..."

Damien swallows. "Uh - it's not... well, you know..."

Polly looks back over her shoulder.

Guy's whoooooole face is the picture of tense. His cheeks have risen in color from rich, rich red to a cute li'l rosy pink. She smiles like a cat. Quirks an eyebrow.

_Yeeeeeeeeees?_

"Uh - " He averts his eyes for a split second. His fingers knead lightly into her shoulder. "You know - does it. Does it hurt or anything? And I mean in a sucky, _un_ sexy way, not a fun cool _sexy_ way."

She pushes herself up straighter, eyes lit up. "Ohhhh no no no no way no way no _wayyyyyy_ ," she cackles, "it hurts like _hell_ , but who cares?!"

Damien gawks like someone just clapped in his face, murmurs an " _oh!_ "

"Whaddyou mean anyway, tough guy? There's a _non_ -sexy way for having something all nice and crammed up deep in there to hurt?"

"There's non-sexy ways of _talking_ about it, I can tell you that much," he says, quiet, knowing she ain't gonna give a damn.

"I've fucked, like, twenty different centaurs before. Hee-you're gonna have to have something _really_ wild up your sleeve to wreck _this_ lady."

She pokes her tongue out. Slow-winks - hikes up her stance in the back, booty on out ( _as the Grim Reaper woulda wanted_ , she's said before - a surprisingly underwhelming lay, for a man literally made out of bones), to sell the _if you know what I mean_. Shuts her eyes in a steady, preemptive relish as, to put a little stroke of a line under it, she squeezes around him. He huffs through teeth and as the white-gold flare up through her stomach and spreading behind her face fades into a hopping full-body tickle, she sinks back down onto the table. Turning with a merriment and a dance of muscles - as if rolling in a big fluffy bed for no other reason than _pffffhaaaaa, maaaaaan, it's so **fluffy**!_

Laughing lightly.

"Speaking of which - let's move on to Big Number Three!"

"Wait - "

"Yepyepyepyepyep! You heard me!" She giggles, wiggling side to side on her tiptoes. Shuts her eyes briefly with an "mmh" at the shift of him inside her; he likewise emits a hiss. The briefest bite of his shiny, shiny nails sinkin' into ectoplasm in kind. She bites her teeth together, laughs halfway through her nose. "Big! C'moooooon, show a ghoulie the good stuff!"

"Fucking - " he snarls, briefly; one small jerk and nudge of his hips against her ass. "Yeah, that's - not what I was talking about! You mean, like, _the_ Big Number Three, or _a_ Big Number Three?"

That Cheshire cat smile draws back in. "There's a 'the' Big Number Three...?"

"Yeah, but - "

"We're not talking about your _butt_ , here, Damey!" Her eyes sink to a steady, smoooooooth half-lid. She bats her lashes a few times - a nice 'n well-practiced weightless batter like the wings of a hovering butterfly. "I needs me an education! School me right on all-natural demon dildos, proper names and numbers and all! I mean, you do have names for your dick, right?" Her voice flittering unfocused. "Dicks?"

"God, does this _feel_ like more than one dick, Polly?"

"Is that a self-burn...?" The corner of her smile twists up higher.

"N-no, it's just - " The nails of his free hand grit into the tabletop. A low, moaning _SKRRRRRRRR_. Damien collapses a noisy-ass sigh. " - mmnh, okay, I'll do it. But - but Big Number Three is one of the _murder_ ones, not the _sex_ ones."

"Ooooooooh!" A coo that curves like a high wave. "So the Polly policy on third dates extends to third _dicks_ , huh?"

" _I don't have three **dicks!**_ "

"Whoa, there, champ." A good ol' smirk. She flips up a hand - _hold up_. "I've had _hell_ of a lot of fun with three-dicked dudes before." A slight, involuntary tremble in her shoulders as Damien starts to drag himself out, slowly; a small dense "mmh - !" broken out of his nose as he drives himself back inward, and a thin trail of breath back in. The tremble works its way inward to a shudder between her ribs - dislodged air hits her head, loosens a little "heh..." out of her throat. A breath deep in again, herself. Back out, as her eyes open again to half-moons. "Pressure's already getting to be a little too much for you, Dame?"

"Gah, what do _you_ think...? I run _hot_ , Polly. I am _literally full of fire._ "

"Don't go blowing your load just yet." All tart and coquettish. "We ain't even halfway down the list yet." She claps her hand down twice, fast, on the tabletop. "Chop chop! Big Number Three, here we go!"

"Yeah, yeah - " Damien's throat sticks. He pushes past it in a grrrrowl. "...Okay, okay...!"

Another quick flash of a chill and a shiver as he shifts side to side. Plants his hands on either side of her, and -

She squeals through her teeth - eyes popping, one leg drawing up; her knee BONKs the underside of the desk. Throws herself onto its surface wailing "owwwww, _owwwwwwwww_...!"

Damien sucks a breath in through his teeth. " - Mmh, fuckin' hell, Polly, I told you, NOT a sexy kind of pain!" Another jerked noise; spine starting to arch involuntarily over her. " - _rrrraaaaghhhh_ , from a _murder weapon!_ "

And Polly _cackles_.

She cackles and cackles and cackles out of the fizzing and popping of nerves all heated and flaring and static-bursting.

She thumps her fist on the surface of the table. Nothing but a bump of noise for more noise. I DON'T KNOW WHAT WE'RE YELLING ABOUT!

"Ha ha haaaa, naaaaaaah, I just banged my kneecap, no big deal! What you got on this thing - " Another tense around him and a _fire_ of shivers from concentrated points. " - like, _nails?!_ "

"Why am I not surprised."

"Becauuuuuse your good ol' Polly's an _adventurer_ , Damey!" Another wink. She knows exactly what he means. "A sexpicurian! I'm an appreciator of aaaall potential sexy, sexy sensations, boo!"

"Great." Damien's throat sticks - he presses through it with a long, scraped noise through his teeth. Working his back to a bend in over her again. Coiling his tail around her standing leg. Hand settling itself on her shoulder again; gives it one steady knead like a mass of warming clay. "So if you're digging this one so much, can we - I don't know... actually _fuck_ now?"

His pupils dart down into their corners down after her, as she wiggles on her shoulders a bit. Her smile setting into two half-moons over one clean curve again.

She lifts a finger. Wags it. "Ahhhh-ah-ah-ah-ahhhhh, my darling darling Damien..." All tart and coquettish.

Props herself up to twist, ever so slightly - another set of drags of bright-white-blue icy chills cutting their way 'round the top of her spine from points of concentration at those points lining Damien's cock - to give that finger a dainty one-two flick to press at the tip of his nose. A certain shit-eating-ness pressing itself firm into her face as his eyes crossed to follow it - shut and flinched away with a small grimace. Tail giving her leg a small yank in some kinda grab for re-anchoring; a tiny jump in her chest as her shoe scooted back from under her - she tipped flatter onto the desk, eyes popped, catching herself on the heel of her palms.

And as she re-lowers her lifted leg - outward - another knowing, knowing grin sets on over her face. She sidles herself along the desk a tad bit more. That leg all the more outward. Other steadily, steaaaaaadily resting to limp in the loop of his tail.

Once again, looking back over her shoulder. Fingertip extending again. Holding in a jaunty point by the side of her face.

"That's three out of nine," she says. "You've still got a loooooooong way to go in trying to wow _this_ bad babe.

"Let's work our way on up toward seeing if that second supposedly not-sexy config of yours can remind me any of how I died? Pr-referably by getting me to die again, if you dig...?"

Damien groans. A long, whining groan that sounds like a malfunctioning blender.

And she smirks with sealed lips over the vibration of another cackle as he shifts again. Tug of his tail signaling for her to slide juuuuust another inch back. A little "hop" of cooperation on the planted leg.

Lays flat. Runs her tongue side-to-side along her lips with a little spark! lighting up the front of her brain. _Heeeere we go...!_

Trotting out Big Number Four.


	2. Polly/Liam: The Vampire Humper's Guide

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Polly/Liam. I realize I honestly kind of ship this one.
> 
> Next up will be Polly/Miranda!

Liam was one heck of a predictable monster.

_Predictably_ , he'd fight ya if you tried to tell him that. And then, predictably, try to be more unpredictable. Ironically enough. (Would he try to say that he was doing it on purpose? For the irony? Did _anyone_ think that hard?)

Polly knew him well. Polly could read him like a book.

She dug that. She dug, too, that he _let_ it happen with her. None a' the ascension to new levels of predictable unpredictability.

Made it easier to keep her brain turned off. Keep to the point. She liked that, too.

That's what she was doing right now - getting right to the point, as he proceeded to be predictable. They exited the club. She knew he was in the same mode as her because he didn't do more than side-glance her when she laced her hand into his, swung both their arms as she took up a messy skip, practically Irish-step-dancing (must be the Irish cream!) in her slapping, flapping flip-flops, teeth and eyes and bright bright champagne colored lights in her head sparkling.

It was further confirmed when, with one more high-swing and pull, she took off like a cat down the first alley they crossed. She yanked him in; he reeled after her with one token lean-in and gasp. She didn't look back at him 'cause she didn't have to. He made a point to catch up.

She figured that the face he'd made, however, was about the same as the one that she got as she reached up, grabbed him by the shoulders, and wheeled him around giggling, leaning against him as if expecting to be caught in a dance. He put his hands up - voiced the suck-in of another gasp, eyes big, as his back hit the edge of the dumpster. Not a sign of pain - not in any bad kinda way, at least. (He got it.) Nope - and at this, she'd fluttered down those pretty little bedroom eyes early. This was a Liam letting himself be _excited_. At times like this, anyway.

Oh, good old _adowubble dweeby predictable_ Liam.

Polly had told him that he was her best friend, once. Albeit Polly was not sure if she had _actually_ said it, and if she had, he'd be far from the only monster she knew who she'd said it to. At the least, every time she'd ever so much as thought a thing like that, she'd meant it. At least in the moment - nice and strongly and in a burn, like the head rush off a swallow of smooth whiskey.

In any case, on came the last light change - yellow to green - as she moved over him:

Lack of complaint.

Not about her advances - he would have done that _waaaaaaay_ ahead of now, if he wasn't as raring to go as she was, albeit more elegantly. Hell, he probably would have told her before they turned around to go home, just in case. He was judgy, he was snobby, he was mouthy, he was fake-edgy, but he knew not to get a girl's hopes up - now, _that's_ toying with a person's emotions. _Such cruelty._

Lack of complaint, rather, about the venue. (And he knew a lot about complaining about venues. As music lovers possessed of Big Feelings about many a thing, they both did. He seemed to always know when the acoustics were a degree less than perfect, the lights cheap, the club just in the wrong part of the town to draw the correct crowd; her, mostly she was mad if they tried to throw her out for bringing PCP, or over lack of bottomless beers, or over the drink line being too far away from the actual music. She was a simple lady.) Far from the first time she'd tried to fuck him in an alley. Far from the first time it looked like she was gonna successfully score that way, too, but those were beside the point - he'd made it perfectly clear several times before if he didn't want to get trash-sludge on his new Nerdy McNerd clothes, or be a party in an act steeped in the cliche brand of - ah - _"seediness"_ inherent in the whole idea of screwing a vampire in a dark alley. Vampires were no more inherently _dangerous or potent_ lovers than any other monster, after all, no - it was all about individual _attitude_. One monster's pride and cultured carriage - be it from the rich history of vampirekind or any other source. Liam, anybody'd have to be blind not to know, had a _lot_ of pride to spare.

'Course, that didn't mean vampires were _equal_ to other monsters, per se. Not worse bed buddies, not better. Just _different_.

She smirked.

Took a couple small, inching steps closer. Hips waggin' and twisting till they pressed against his with wide-turning movements like a shark turning around mid-swim. She waggled them in a little dance. He expelled air out of his lungs - like one of his woe-is-me _sighs_ with absolutely none of the _sneer_. She walked her hands up along the top of the dumpster, belly pressed to his, until he was laid back about as close to horizontal as possible, looking down himself at her with his bony chin to his chest. Looking at her with wondrously wide-eyed expectation.

He had worn his hair down tonight. This was a rarity. Not quite an _unpredictability_ , but enough of a rarity that she liked it.

She loomed in lower - all like a kitty ducking in to lap out of its saucer, teeth showing between her lips. She blinked her eyes slowly - a nice cheeky butterfly-winging of her eyelashes. Slid up him, sole of one sandal slipping up off the floor to kick up behind her. She kissed him once on the tip of his protruding fang. Once at the side of his jaw. She saw his throat bob.

Riiiiiiight before, puckering up pointedly, drawing a play-whining sound in her throat - _"hnnnmmmmmmmnnnn...?"_ \- she moved on down to it. He spread his arms to lean further back, tipping his head up. His Adam's apple bobbed again. She giggled before she latched on with the most _practiced_ of kissy-kissy noises.

Began sucking away with, just as practiced, a relishing _"mmmmh!"_ \- the sound one makes after taking a melting bite out of some rich, rich sweet. He shivered under her - released a rattling exhale, barely audible; a simple faint, distant shudder in the air. Began to flatten himself against the dumpster lid - going limp. Her lips pulled at his neck a little extra - a tiny squeeze and pop - in a teeny smirk, as she began flapping and patting with one hand for the bag at her side. Several cloth-and-denim _whump_ s.

This was one thing that _had_ surprised her about giving vampire a first high school try - that he was into getting his neck sucked. It was one area in which he was a switch, perhaps. (Or was she being, like, vampire-ist for assuming it was a thing _that way_ , with vampires? Eh, he could tell her, if she asked. Which she wasn't gonna. Boy, _could_ he tell her.) Or maybe it was compensation - sucking on her neck wasn't much fun for him. They'd tried it. Of course they'd tried it - it's the very first item on the list of _things to try when you're nailing a vampire_. _Humans_ know that.

Alas, though, blood-sucking ain't too much fun, it seemed, when the bite-ee doesn't have a drop of blood in their system to suck. And when, half the time, their neck is barely even tangible, but that was an off-and-on issue.

This brought her to where her fingers closed under the flap of her purse.

One little pinch-off of the suction of her lips, and he gasped, and she drew back. Pushing herself back a little, catchin' breath with vocalization and dramatic swelter for nothing more than the effect - two cold bodies still crave a little heat - with both feet tapping back on the ground and one arm flipping up across his torso like that of a pretty little dog posing on a pillow. All artful.

She smiled again, her mouth bending down in the middle as easy as setting a bead on a loose string. Swayed to the side to make way for the show-off as she lifted a black flask in the air.

"Polly's love juuuuuuiiiiiiiiiiice...!" A tiny high-pinched little drifting singsong.

He lidded his eyes flat on her for a moment, propped up on his elbows. Pretending to be a little resistant to play in stops and gos - once again, she knew the score; lifted her eyebrows just to play a tad more back. She waggled the bottle; blood and wine sloshed in the little pocket of air caught in the flask's short neck.

And he collapsed a breath he entirely didn't need. Acknowledgement. "Aaaaatta boy," she said, curved and brightened by her grin, as she walked the fingers of her free hand back up him, tails ticking into the knit of his sweater, wiggling up after them. Pressing him down flat, to meet him, as he lay back again.

He already had his mouth open. He was obvious, again. Continuing to put on a show for himself, with his restrained, quivery gasps. She giggled.

Pressed her hips against his again in a round. And he pressed, likewise, back up against her - a small, gritted sound in the back of his throat - with his back arching up off the dumpster lid. _Pretending_ like he didn't know what they were both doing.

He _was_ one of the better drama boys in school.

All the same - he was prepared to swallow right on cue as she upended the flask over his mouth in a bartender's pour; heck, his tongue flicked out curved for a moment, pointed at the end, to ensure he was gonna catch it. She kept her trail nice and unbroken. He, likewise, kept on downing the red stream with minimal movement except for dips in his bruised throat. She leaned onto her free elbow in a little sway. Licked her lips in an absent little flick. Watching with a relaxed, procedural kind of interest.

The trail thinned. She lifted the flask ever more and more vertical. Shook it. Scattered little dark-red drops.

And he doubled into a _cough_.

Her eyes popped round; she practically bounced back, laughed without smiling. "Uhhhh... Whoops!"

He continued to cough. Wincing, pushing himself back up, sneering with eyes daggers pointed at nothing.

"Heh... Uh - did I use too much of the cheap stuff this time? Or maybe it was the homemade wormwood-and-wolfsbane absinthe I mixed into this batch...?"

His pupils snapped up to her as he squeezed a wheeze. Chest inflating. He paused a second before saying, hoarse, "You got me in the _throat_."

Hee.

"That's what she said." Her smile bloomed in again. Set in nice, heavy, complacent as he rattled out a good and prolonged huff, eyes flicking aside to skate into a point-by-point roll. "Now... Lay back, buddy-boy, would you? Now we can get into the really juicy stiff..."

"Don't you mean 'stuff'...?" His voice was still hoarse.

Laughter bobbed and bubbled in her chest. "...Mmmmm, I don't know, _do_ I?"

Speaking of "hoarse", he huffed like one.

At least her statement could have been construed as a compliment.

But he complied. Immediately. She hummed again - toned like an " _ooh!_ ", in approval - pinning her smile on up into her eyes. Stuffed the flask back into her purse and, laying down on top of him again with her breasts pressed together and down against his chest, stretched both arms out behind his head. There was a little drift of a mid-voiced note into his draw of a breath out. She pressed her lips against his neck again, under the bone of his jaw. Planted one firm kiss, then another, latching on again. With the first little squeaks of suction, she felt him shudder under her again. He _seized_ up against her.

And she hummed once more - a nice, considering turn along with another back up into a smile - as she felt him start to firm up against her hips.

She wondered if this was a lesser-known fact about vampires. After all, this had been another thing which had _initially_ surprised her about trying one. Then again, it simultaneously made sense... and made sense why it _wouldn't_ be common knowledge. Maybe that was why everyone always assumed vampires were into getting bitey. Maybe that's why it was one of the obligatory _things to try_.

They fill their dead systems up with fresh blood under the pretense of _at least one of us is into that, right?_ and they've got the juice to get it on.

And Polly approved of this bit a' cooperation, too. She bit her smile lightly into his neck - a tiny pinch of skin gone tender; got a small swallowed noise and a flow up against her for the trouble. She "waggled" her hips against him again.

Except slower. Firmer. Feeling him move between the fabric of their pants. He gasped rough and almost dizzily, arcing up further against her. She heard his nails scraping at the dumpster lid.

And she shut her eyes. Re-sealed her kiss again, lower, more toward the middle. Made each suck not a bite, not a pinch, but a deep _press_ \- a long drink of something that wasn't gonna pour.

When he went limp again, she lay on him flat and worked her hands down to their hips. Wriggled off his jeans and her shorts, fished his cock out into the open air, and mounted him.

He emitted a long sigh openly and vocally as she pressed down on top of him. Head tipping back once again and eyes widening, arcing high. She knew how this was gonna be, though - not much more movement from him than that.

Was all on her.

She made a point to grind down firm - repeating those sharp wiggles of her hips as she closed down on top of him, both of 'em hissing steam through their noses and the backs of their throats; electricity fired up along and out through her back. As he came to a full rest inside her, she arced, too - nice, and deep, and savoring. Another high, pleased " _mmnh!_ " sound.

_That's right._ That's _what I want._

He moaned, repressedly. Some kind of deliberate reply. She moved and ground on - bearing full weight down on him each slide down to press hips to complete dead-weight rest against hips.

He had a way of trying not to make any noise - one more thing that figured. More of that _cool, dainty drama_ of his; it was the same thing in his lack of movement, or so he'd let anyone but her think. Not as if he didn't enjoy sex, but as if he didn't enjoy it any more than a stroll through the park or an _adequate_ song. He'd tried everything. His four-hundred-year-long bedpost (tee-hee) was possessed of a thousand notches made with a thousand tools (tee-hee).

Him continuing to pretend there was nothing in life worth screaming about, when she wasn't around. Trying to keep it on even when she was.

Harder to do when you know someone's favorites.

She laughed softly - picked it up with a suck of a gasp as she bounced back off of him and dragged him back out of her, that small pull of his cock's head against her walls. Leaned forward, center of her back ducked in and ass in the air, as if he could see - caught on her elbows and pinching his cheek.

She cocked her head into a wink. It trembled, a little, as a bead of ectoplasm began to ran down toward her eyebrow; he winced into a blink before lookin' at her all but flat again - mouth open, both fangs showing, to let his breath keep on shaking in and out of his system ragged.

She wasn't gonna signal. He liked "being taken". Any grounds to accept spoiling under guise of something he could, in theory, claim he would so graciously "allow".

Not gonna signal, anyway, with anything but the wink. A signal that she was in on the game of it.

All before she shut her eyes again. Once more loomed close against his throat -

\- and attacked it with a swoop like a striking snake as she fell down against his hips hard. She got a cry out of him that time - smoothed her hand against his hair, as one more sign of approval, as she put her teeth into it, sucking hard again in times with shakes of her hips down against him, her purse slapping against her hip and his shaft pressed and ground _good_ against her clit to make her _squeak_ with each swing.

There was the noise. Him moaning, dry-throated, as he continued to shiver under her - hips just lifting and rolling up with and against hers to push him in deeper while knowing he couldn't keep her pace.

It was a common thought she had while they partied.

_Aww, Liam. If I didn't know you any better, I'd almost think you were having fun!_

She threw herself harder against him, off that thought. Slower, firmer _pounds_ ; a harder _grind_ for each of them both, biting harder in kind. She finally got a murmur out of him: "Polly..."

How utterly _cliche!_

She flinched into him filling her at the land of another pound. Her kiss snapped loose from his neck, and as she lifted off, nerves vibrating and hot and sparkling with static, she "hee-heeeeeee..."-ed.

"Yeeeeeeeeees...?"

And once more, she knew already. She held her ass all cocked in the air, head of his cock just caught between her pussy's entrance and lips. She gave just one more "experimental" waggle...!

And then she slammed down on him again with a high grunt. He _choked_ under her, fangs showing long and an arc seizing his back and bucking him up further into her hard, into a total, deep lock - one hand reflexively coming down at the base of her back.

That tremble in her nerves rose high till it held its resonance like a fleet of violin chords. She let it manifest - her shoulders shook. A tiny whine started to sleep and bind in the back of her throat; she smiled at its little tingle. Arced her back down with him - felt borrowed blood beating out pulses inside her, and herself around him, clamped her muscles around to hold that feeling, tease that resonance higher - higher - higher...!

\- And shudder apart into a warm flood. Scattering all throughout ghost veins and pouring into them warm. She pulsed around him again as she collapsed down. Still pulsing.

Smiling now at the bright rise to a flash in her head and the come-down with all her senses sharp-yet-swimming, drenched in another good dose of champagne.

He gasped for air under her, all the while.

Silly Liam.

When she turned her grin up on him, it was sly. Complacent, perhaps.

But _utterly_ at ease.

And with one last collapse of his lungs against her before his body stilled - breath, and the one last dying-moth flutter of pulse between them - he started to push himself up onto his elbows again. Giving a look down at her the same way he always did - like she'd discovered some kind of a _filthy_ _secret._

And she smiled deeper. Wriggled on top of him to keep her weight on him nice and flat.

_Maaaaybe I'll let you get up if you ask_ nicely...!

"Polina, would you _please_ ," he said.

Her grin stretched high in the corners with her teeth locked in front of no sound but all the chesty vibration of a smile. "Yeah, yeah, I know, Lee," she said. "Your place, or mine?"

He'd tried to ask her the same question the first time this had happened. And that time, it had been yet another thing which surprised, until she understood it. She explained what she thought she'd grokked to him with utter joyful self-satisfaction: _oooooh, lemme guess, lemme guess! Something about how romance is for squares and society should move away from the archaic and toxic practice of treating sex like some kind of trophy or sport to keep score over... buuuut it'd still be tragic for the coolest monster in school to go home alone?_

At least that had been a parry. He'd made it very clear he hadn't been expecting that answer. He'd _blushed_ , avoided eye contact.

Never mind that she had been one-hundred percent teasing, although not meanly.

And similarly called on his bluff, here, he was once again avoiding eye contact.

Those narrow pupils cut into bright-gold eyes looking somewhere far, far off to the side. (The entrance of the alleyway, she'd realize about two beats late. Oh. That made sense.)

He "umm"-ed. Swallowed. "Yours," he said curtly.

The tiniest tremble that turned Polly's smile Cheshire-like.

One last punctuation mark in a message that ciphered out, by her knowledge, to _You know me too well, Polly._

_You know me too well._

**Author's Note:**

> Heads-up also that while I'll be adding to this on a reasonably-consistent basis as light, self-contained fare, I'll also be getting back on the Zoe/Liam fic I posted at the start of the year! Apologies if it looks as if I abandoned it - at the risk of getting too personal, some mental health and interpersonal drama stuff came up that kind of made it hard to get motivated to write to satisfaction. That's all been getting straightened out pretty thoroughly, however, and haa, now I've got the writing bug again harder than it feels like I have in years!


End file.
